Page 115 of Shadows of Steel
I shake my head, exasperated. “He’s eight.” I emphasize.
Dante doesn’t waver. Not even a little.
“It’s irrelevant,” he says, his tone clipped, unyielding. “This is the life he was born into, and it is no place for the weak. He must learn to fight his own battles now, or this world will devour him and spit out what remains. Strength is not a choice, Harlow, it’s a necessity. I won’t coddle him.”
I grit my teeth, frustration burning in my chest. But the worst part?
He’s not wrong.
And he knows it.
Dante watches me for a long moment before exhaling, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I know he struggles,” he says. “I know exactly what those little bastards say.” His voice is a quiet promise of violence. “How they try to tear him down, strip away his pride, make him feel small.” A dangerous gleam flickers in his eyes, his tone steeped in something merciless. “But you know what?” He exhales sharply. “I’m fucking proud. Proud that he fights, that he doesn’t cower, that he gives as good as he gets. Because weakness in this world is a death sentence, and I’ll be damned if my son ever wears it.”
I huff, shaking my head, but a small, unwilling smile tugs at my lips. “He’s so much like you,” I mutter.
Dante’s grin is slow, knowing, wicked. “He’ll be worse.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, before he crooks a finger, gesturing me forward. “Come here.”
I falter for half a second before pushing myself up and moving toward him.
Dante remains seated, his gaze locked onto mine as I close the distance between us. His hands find my waist, pulling me into his lap. Slowly he removes my cap, letting my hair spill free. His fingers slide into the strands, gripping just firmly enough to tip my head back. He inhales deeply, his lips grazing my throat,a whisper of heat against my skin. “I missed my wife.” His voice is rough.
Heat flares through me as his lips graze my pulse, then travel lower, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck. I shift, my hands resting against his chest. “Dante, what if someone…” I murmur, but my breath catches when his teeth nip at my skin.
He smirks against my throat. “No one’s coming in.” he assures, his hands sliding down to my hips, gripping tight. And then, in one swift movement, he lifts me, setting me on his desk. I suck in a sharp breath, my legs parting instinctively as he steps between them.
His hands trail down my thighs, his touch possessive, demanding. “Let me show you just how much I missed you.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before his mouth crashes onto mine. His kiss is raw, fervent, an unspoken vow, a claim reignited with every bruising press of his lips. I moan into his mouth as his fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings, dragging them down in one smooth motion, stripping away every barrier between us. I shiver at the feeling of the cool air against my bare skin. Dante groans, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider. “Fuck, you’re dripping.”
I gasp as his fingers tease my entrance, barely touching me, just enough to drive me insane. “Dante—”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his hand moves to undo his belt with a sharp pull. A whisper of fabric follows as his pants and boxers are discarded in an instant. Heat radiates from him as he positions himself at my entrance.
He sinks in with one deep thrust, stretching me to the brink of sensation. My head falls back, a strangled moan escaping my lips as his grip tightens, holding me precisely where he wants. His lips ghost up the line of my jaw, his voice dark, raw, and possessive.
“Mine.”
Thrust.
“My fucking wife.”
Thrust.
“My possession.”
Thrust.
Each movement unravels me, each thrust wiping away everything that isn’t him, until I am lost in nothing but the feeling of Dante Salvatore consuming me whole.
He worships me with his body, with his touch, with every sharp snap of his hips against mine.
I don’t know how long we go on, but when I finally shatter, he’s right there with me, my name a curse and a prayer on his lips as he follows me over the edge.
